


Kintsugi

by tobiyos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Persona Rarepair Week, Post P5R, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, cooking as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: Kintsugi (金継ぎ) - the art of embracing damage by repairing with gold. As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.--Takuto doesn't have a job, or friends, or any footholds in his field, so, naturally, he walks into a novelty gun store and asks for something to do.
Relationships: Iwai Munehisa/Maruki Takuto
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. Oh my GOD
> 
> I literally thought about Iwai/Maruki as a JOKE with a friend who doesn’t even like P5 and then I kept thinking about it and I literally could not stop until I got this out into the world. I have so much other stuff I wanted to do that couldn’t fit into this I want to write more! I love love Iwai and Takuto is such a great character I just. Ugh. UGH.
> 
> Also I wrote this in like. September but thought I'd get it done in time persona rarepair week! Soooo
> 
> Persona rarepare week day 7: free day

It's strange, all things considered, that the first thing Takuto does when he gets his ass handed to him by a teenager is to just. Go home. He thinks he’d probably be a shitty protagonist, because he _should_ be building himself back up from the ground, remaking himself in fire and brimstone. He said he was going to save everyone—he should still be trying.

What he realizes, on the near empty train ride to his apartment, is that he’s thirty-four, and he’s tired, and, well, fuck. He wants to go home.

He kicks his shoes off at his door, and braces a hand against the wall, and the second thing he does is cry.

Takuto Maruki is a lot of things—a few of which it apparently took him trying to become a god to realize—but he was never a crier. Not with Rumi, not with his patients, not with _himself_. It doesn’t take very long in a field like his to learn that being a counselor will expose you to the rawest, most terrifying parts of being human, and he thinks it’s only natural that eventually, you just run out of tears. You offer what you can and learn to stop dwelling on what you can’t.

The past is a painful thing, he’s realized. Time and time again he’s learned that the past can _break_ you, bit by bit over excruciating days and weeks and months. Takuto digs his hand into the peeling paint on his wall and sinks to his knees and knows that’s probably what hurts the most.

He’s clutching at his own shirt and gasping through the hot, painful tears that are sliding unbidden down his face, and realizes that it hurts because he thought he was _done_ with all of this. He was so willing to do whatever it took to build things way that everyone needed—no, the way that _he_ needed—that heartache would be a thing of the past if they’d just given him a few weeks, a few months. _A day_ , he thinks, as he chokes on his own breath. _If they had given me one more day._

Takuto is a shattered treasure with a broken heart, and the last pieces of him are spilling onto the floor of his apartment as he breaks down. Someone broke the world and he’s not sure if it was him, or Adam Kadmon, or some teenager with a martyr complex that fell prey to free snacks and good company.

The Phantom Thieves taught him one thing, at least. If those kids can bear the weight of the world on their shoulders and still be able to claw their way up from tragedy, he supposes the third thing he has to do is gather what’s left, and piece it back together.

Takuto wipes a hand over his face, goes to his room, and starts to heal.

\--

Takuto would rather not call what he’s doing _sulking_. Rationally, he knows that’s exactly what it is.

He sulks, day in and day out, in his bed and in his kitchen and on his couch, and when he gets tired of sulking, he goes out.

What’s that thing people say about not missing something until it’s gone? He itches for Leblanc, almost strangely, because the atmosphere is gentle and forgiving, and maybe if it were a month or so back, he could talk to what had been his favorite student, the driving force behind finally seeing a light at the end of a confusing, dark tunnel.

Akira may be in jail, but Leblanc is still his territory, and he knows Sakura-san’s probing gaze would probably hurt more than just avoiding the place all together. It’s not his fault they wouldn’t take his reality, not his fault that as much as Sojiro had cared for Akira, he’s stuck with saying goodbye to him at the end of the year. It’s not his _fault_.

He wonders briefly if he learned anything after all.

Tokyo is cool in February, so Takuto puts on a coat and learns his city again, walking past alleys and ducking into walkways. The streets are loud and the trains are louder, as Takuto stumbles past businessmen on phones and giggling hordes of middle schoolers like a ghost. In a city this big, one lone man wandering the street doesn’t gather much attention, and he’s thankful as he slips past crowds and down abandoned streets.

He bumps into a woman leaving the station as she babbles into a phone, and Takuto throws her an apology, smiling down at the little girl who’s holding her mother’s hand. Maybe that could have been Rumi, someday, if he had a bit more of a spine. If Takuto wasn’t more focused on running from everything than he was on helping her. Now, with his persona destroyed, he wonders what happened to her. He had hoped she was spared the total rewrite to normalcy, but that probably isn’t the case. His realism has always been something of a shortcoming.

Takuto sight sees, and he eats, sleeps in his house and stares up at his ceiling when sleep won’t find him, when the ghosts in his head get too loud for his heart to handle. Which is more often than he’d really like to admit. He sleeps like _shit_ when he manages it at all, haunted by a world that would have been a walking dream.

But he feels like he’s threading a string through himself during the day, held together by some invisible tether that just won’t let go. He holds it together, speaks politely to the foreigners that ask for directions, manages to answer when his mother calls. You shatter a pot; you fuse it together with gold.

Eventually, he gets his shit in order, and looks for work.

It's slow going. He's a man with a degree in a very specific field, and he can’t go back to his clinic, or a school, or picking apart the human psyche when his brain feels like missing piece of a puzzle. It doesn’t seem fair. Not to his patients, and certainly not to him. Maybe one day, when every little bit of advice doesn’t feel weighted with his own hypocrisy, he can brush up on how to help without offering escape alone, and he’ll go back. He’d gotten into his work to fix the world, after all, and it seems like he can’t even be done with that.

There's a flower shop with a new opening, and a ramen place down the street, and he calls, and he asks, but he ends up in an alleyway in Shibuya, thinking about nothing. He had just been letting his feet carry him forward while he stared at the winter grey sky and the only slightly lighter clouds, and somehow ends up at an airsoft shop staring at a neon green sign and a display case full of dark replica armor. He’s been in this area hundreds of times, and he still thinks he’s never seen it.

So, naturally, he asks for a job.

The owner, Iwai, a man who looks around Takuto’s age, even with his gruff voice and smattering of stubble, seems about as unimpressed with his offer as Takuto thinks a person _can_ be. He doesn’t even look up from the laptop he’s working on, glancing to the side at the spread-out catalogue at his elbow.

"The kid send you?" he asks, eyes scanning over the page instead of fixed on Takuto’s embarrassingly earnest expression. He speaks with a rough timbre that makes Takuto think that he must trade the lollipop in his mouth for a cigarette when the occasion arises.

"The kid?" Takuto repeats, confused. He tries to go for relaxed, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants with a tilt of his head. He’s dressed casually today, which he supposes is his norm now—no more lab coats and sparkling golden headpieces. Just a tan overcoat and a dark turtleneck.

Iwai grunts, leaning back in his chair to look at Takuto for the first time since he walked in. His eyes follow the lines of Takuto’s body shortly, like he’s sizing down one of the fake guns on the wall, empty but for a gentle scrutiny. Takuto thinks he should feel intimidated—after all, everything about the shop and the owner fills him with a distinct sense that he does not belong—but he doesn’t think he’s much in danger. Right now, at least.

"The kid," Iwai huffs, head rolling to the side. "You've got his smell on you."

A little troubled, Takuto takes a hesitant step backwards, glancing at the door and the empty alleyway beyond. “You know what? I was just, ah… wandering. I’ll be off now. Excuse me—"

"Hold on," Iwai says, with a lifted hand. It does give Takuto pause, because he doesn't have a place to go, and it strangely feels good to be _here._ His only other option, really, is to go home, and Untouchable makes him feel alight with a strange energy. "If you're not another one of Akira’s little pet projects, how’d you end up here? Gonna tell me you’re an _enthusiast_ now?”

Ah. It’s like a bucket of cold water over his head. Akira is destined to follow him now, he supposes, haunting him no matter how out of reach he may get. It’s a suitable punishment, Takuto thinks.

He goes for his best congenial smile, the one he used to use on the more nervous of his patients. It doesn’t seem to affect Iwai, who blinks up at him, face slack with uninterest. "I'm certainly knowledgeable. Hence the, ah, the looking for a job."

Iwai picks up his catalogue again, closing it with a snap to set aside. "Hm. Well, I'm out a part timer, but the only reason I brought him on is because of… certain circumstances. He never asked for pay. Can't say I've got anything for you here, dollface."

Takuto thinks it’s supposed to be an insult, some kind of dig at his masculinity, but the jab flies over his head as his brain works around dusty cogs. It seems Akira had taken on a job at Untouchable besides his other strange part time endeavors. Takuto is still surprised he was able to keep his grades as high as they were with all of his outside occupations.

Well, he thinks. It’s a start.

"I can work for free. I've, er, got another job lined up and I'm an enthusiast, s-so." Takuto knows he’s a shit liar, but he can’t stop the stream of words at the prospect of something to _do_. Something new, and exciting, if the little gleam to Iwai’s eyes and the strong length of his shoulders means anything.

"That right?" Iwai says, not looking up from the catalogue. "I've heard that one before. Wanna give it another try?"

Takuto flinches when he smacks his hands down on the counter, going for intimidating but ending up embarrassed, reaching out to catch Iwai’s paper coffee cup before it tips over. He sets the cup back down to a snort of laughter from Iwai, glancing amused at Takuto over a raised eyebrow. Takuto’s face flushes hot with embarrassment, but he stays leaned over, even with Iwai’s unimpressed gaze leveled on him. He needs this—needs _structure,_ needs a damn _hobby_ for once in his fucking life. He doesn't want to be a god, or a savior. He’s got to start over by being _human_ and he'll work his way up from there.

"Please," Takuto begs. "I'll help out, won't ask you for much. I just. Need this. I can’t go back to my old life."

When he glances back up, there's something sympathetic in Iwai's eyes, in the gentler slope of his mouth. He doesn't hold Takuto's gaze for long, eyes darting somewhere far away after a moment. "Fine," he says quietly and goes back to his newspaper. "But it's not like we're desperate."

\--

Takuto gets a job at a flower store and a "job" at Untouchable, and he tries not to sleep.

That's the thing, about sleeping. When you're lonely, and strangely guilty, it doesn't come easily. He tosses, and turns, and then he buys a book on flower language, and he reads, instead. It works really well for a while, and he’s learning loads about the different types of flowers and what they mean when paired together, or in certain patterns, and it takes his mind off of all his failures, every slip up and regret that got him to where he is today.

He finishes _Flower-pedia_ and just keeps on from there, becoming a regular at the small, family owned bookshop by his apartment and picking paperbacks with obscure topics (he has one on batting cage tips and another on shrines in the Tokyo area) and he goes into the airsoft shop looking, as Iwai so delicately puts it, like death.

"Missus keep you up?" Iwai asks, and Takuto freezes where he's readjusting models delicately, ignoring the way blood rushes through his brain with a roar.

He tries to cover it by laughing, which just backfires when it catches in his throat painfully. He clears his throat. "No missus," he says quietly, and he hates himself, because he sounds _sad_. He’s not here looking for pity, or to dwell on the past, but even if he doesn’t know anything about Rumi anymore, he still has to wonder. He’ll always wonder, he thinks. He doesn’t know if that’s okay.

"Maruki," Iwai says. And again, " _Maruki._ "

It snaps him out of it, and Takuto realizes his hands are shaking. "Sorry. Yeah. Yes."

"Sore spot?" Iwai says, leaning his weight against the front display case. "My bad. Won't bring it up again."

"No!" Takuto shouts, too loud. He cringes, takes a few breaths and gives Iwai his best doctor's smile. "No, it's fine. Old scars, you know."

Iwai nods, a little like someone who might understand too well. "Old scars."

\--

Iwai is… a strange employer.

He doesn’t ask Takuto for much and doesn’t really give him any specific hours to work with either. Takuto asked, once, and he said, “Show up whenever, it’s no skin off my back.” So Takuto drops by after he finishes his shift at the flower shop and works on menial buisness until Iwai closes up for the day.

People filter in on occasion, looking for recommendations or tips, but the store doesn’t get a whole lot of traction. Takuto wonders briefly how they’re still open, but Iwai fixes him with a glare when he asks.

“You trying to say something, dollface?” he growls.

Takuto just laughs, a little nervously, and goes back to dusting, or rearranging displays, and watching the store while Iwai makes runs for god knows what. Takuto doesn’t really mind. It’s none of his buisness.

\--

Takuto decides he's going to learn how to cook. His apartment is littered with books and pamphlets on nothing and everything, because with a passion left behind, there’s always space for one, or two, or _a thousand_ new things. He’s a man of his intellect, sure, but when his brain gets too loud it’s all he can do to turn to his hands.

His job at Untouchable is good enough for that, sure, but he can’t bother Iwai _all_ of the time, especially when it feels like sometimes Iwai is putting up with him like a slightly unruly stray.

There’s a book of recipes at one of the shops he frequents regularly, hidden among glossy celebrity names and old family cookbooks. It’s full of familiar, homey recipes, too big for Takuto’s lonely little apartment, but he starts picking his way through the book anyway, tucking leftovers into his fridge and eating out of old containers as many times as he tries out new recipes.

“What’s your favorite food?” he asks Iwai, arching up on his toes in the back room to find the oil Iwai needs to polish the plastic of the guns. Iwai can hear him through the propped open door, though all Takuto can see of him is the back of his hat, and the tips of his fingers as they fly across his keyboard.

“Huh?” Iwai grunts. “Why do you need to know?”

Takuto clicks his tongue and reaches for the oil again. It’s high enough on the shelves that he can just barely skim fingers over it without touching it. “I’ve been doing a lot of home cooking lately,” he calls tightly, between passes at trying for the container. “I figured since you’re helping me out here, I’d better extend some of my meager culinary skills to you.”

Iwai gives a bark of dry laughter that sounds close, before there’s a hand resting on Takuto’s shoulder, and the container of oil gets plucked off of the shelf. “Thanks,” Takuto says, glancing up at Iwai’s face. He’s not much taller than Takuto, but it’s enough, and Iwai fixes him with an unimpressed look.

“You’re working for _me_ without pay here, dollface. If anything, I should be brining _you_ cupcakes ‘n shit.” The hand on Takuto’s shoulder slides away, leaving his body a little colder, and he trails Iwai back out of the room to lean over him as he sits in his chair.

“I’ve already told you—money isn’t the issue. I just need something to do.”

Iwai sighs, and glances out at the alleyway. He looks like he’s thinking. “…I don’t have a favorite food. Make whatever you want.”

Takuto hums and slips away from the chair with a light touch to Iwai’s arm. “Everyone has a favorite food. I’ll figure it out.”

\--

He finds three recipes he thinks Iwai will like. They’re all homey, easy to make and transport types of stuff, but he starts off with soba. Everyone likes soba, he thinks. Even mean, old, cranky Iwai.

He finds something to put on to while he cooks, some J-Pop garbage he wouldn’t usually be caught listening to, but he’s still on the mend, and any new experience is a good one in his book. It’s pretty pleasant, all things considered, upbeat and catchy, and he has to hand it to the girls in the group—they’ve got nice voices.

He still feels like he’s hurtling towards the surface of the sun sometimes, but he dances around his kitchen and chops vegetables and warms broth, and strangely, feels _good_. Not the distracted, nose buried in a book, ghosts he can’t see looming over his head kind of good, but honest-to-god light, bubbly fun. He wishes he had someone to share it with, that he’d kept up with his friends from college well enough into his research that he could phone one up and get a cup of coffee, but it’s a start. He works his hands until they’re sore, cuts and forms noodles, and by the time he’s done, gets a cursory taste that turns into a less than cursory one because he’s certainly no chef, but it’s better than he really thought it would be.

He puts leftovers in the fridge and shoves it into a thermos before he heads out for his shift at the flower shop the next day. His coworker, a young woman a few years his junior, teases him about it, harping that he’s trying to win over some lovebird. He doesn’t know why everyone is so obsessed with his love life, but exposure therapy works, he guesses, smiling without correcting her.

“Hm?” Iwai says, when Takuto sets the thermos down. “The hell’s this?”

“Food,” Maruki says pleasantly, and moves towards the backroom to shove his phone and his apron from work on the shelf he’s claimed as his own. “Soba, specifically.”

“For me?”

Takuto laughs, the good mood carrying over even at Iwai’s gentle disbelief. “Yes, you. I asked you what your favorite food was, and I was trying out some new recipes so,” he walks back out of the storage room with a duster and a grin. “Soba.”

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he watches Iwai crack the top of the thermos, steam pouring out into the cool air. The smell of soba starts to fill the shop delicately, and Maruki sets off on dusting nearby, a very obvious ploy at watching for Iwai’s reaction to his cooking while he pretends to work.

Apprehension curls tight in his chest when Iwai picks up the pair of chopsticks he’d brought along and Takuto isn’t even _breathing_ when he takes a bite.

“Tastes like shit,” he says firmly.

Startled, Takuto drops the feather duster with a sharp sound through his nose, that turns into a snicker through his mouth, until he’s doubled over, laughing hysterically into his hands.

Iwai makes an amused noise. “Just kidding. It’s pretty good.”

Takuto is still laughing, a hand out to steady him against the front of the door, and he wheezes once, before his head hits the cool glass of the entrance.

“You’re such an asshole,” he laughs.

Iwai barks out another one of his loud, grating cackles, and Takuto stands up again, brushing a tear off of the corner of his eye. “Takes one to know one, dollface.”

Takuto fixes him with a rare smile. “I am kind of a shithead, huh?”

The corners of Iwai’s mouth tick up as he takes another bite of Soba. “Probably.”

\--

Takuto’s not invincible, he knows. He’s just as human as anyone else now, past be damned. It’s still a surprise when he gets sick.

He wakes up and feels like death, shivers as he shuffles into the kitchen to grab a thermometer, and nearly passes out making himself some breakfast.

It’s official. He’s got a fever.

He climbs back into bed with a sigh, phone clutched to his chest, and dials up the flower shop first. His co-worker is understanding, especially as Takuto apologizes profusely, but she assures him that the day will probably be slow. He hangs up on her with a cough and rolls over to groan before he dials Iwai.

 _“Huh?”_ Iwai greets, voice rough as always. _“What do you want?”_

“I’m sick,” Takuto rasps, throat seizing up on a painful cough. “I know I’m technically not an employee, but I just thought I should tell you. Won’t be coming by today.”

He’s surprised when Iwai asks, _“Are you okay?”_

It takes him an embarrassingly long moment to be able to respond. “Y-yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, just—” he cuts himself off with a cough. “I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow, probably. Don’t worry about me.”

Over the line, something crackles. _“You live alone, don’t you?”_

“Um, yes—”

_“Send me your address.”_

Takuto’s heart stops beating for a second. “What?”

 _“Send me your address,”_ Iwai growls. _“Shop’s slow, and I don’t want you to vomit all over yourself or something with nobody there. ‘s fine.”_

“You don’t have to—”

_“Maruki.”_

Takuto sighs and texts Iwai his address.

He shuffles into the kitchen to grab an ice pack, and he must be sicker than he thought, because it takes long enough that by the time he’s laying down on his couch with the icepack over his forehead, someone knocks at his door. “Door’s unlocked!” he calls, because the last time he tried to stand up, he’d gotten so dizzy he’d nearly crashed into his coffee table.

The entrance pushes open with a creak, and Iwai’s boots sound loud on the floor of his apartment. _Untouchable’s floors must be very sturdy_ , Takuto thinks deliriously. He hopes his downstairs neighbors aren’t home. “Where are you, dollface?”

“Couch,” Takuto calls back weakly. He’s got his eyes closed, is just relishing in the gentle swaying that being perpetually dizzy allows, so when Iwai drops something onto his chest, he wheezes. He opens his eyes, is about to ask Iwai why he’s come in seemingly only to drop a plastic bag on his chest, when he feels a hand against the side of his face, and glances up to Iwai standing over him, peering down with a pinched expression on his face.

Iwai’s hand on his face is cool, like the ice pack, and a little rough. Takuto feels his hand twitch and slide gently down towards his neck. Takuto just blinks his eyes, feeling a bit like he’s dreaming.

“Christ, you’re burning up. Did you take anything?”

He doesn’t move his hand, and Takuto finds is suddenly difficult to breathe, wrapped up in the feeling of Iwai’s hands on his skin. He’s got nice hands, Takuto knows, has had to watch him fiddle with bits and pieces of guns for too long not to notice, and maybe he’s touch starved, but now his hands feel like an antidote he didn’t know he needed.

“ _Maruki_.”

“What was the question again?” he asks weakly.

Iwai huffs. “What have you taken?”

Maruki blinks, illness addled brain processing the question too slowly. “I took a painkiller an hour or two ago, but nothing much, really.” Iwai moves his hand, and Takuto sits up slowly, sliding the ice pack off of his head. It was starting to go warm anyway, getting squishy as the water inside melted.

Iwai makes a considering noise, eyes tracking over Takuto as he shifts uncomfortably. “I brought you some cough syrup and a shit ton of sports drinks. You better finish ‘em.”

Takuto winces. “Sugar isn’t really my thing.”

“I didn’t ask if sugar was your thing, dumbass. You need to flush that shit out.”

He helps Takuto sit up with a grumble, and Iwai offers him the first sports drink of what Takuto is realizing will probably be many. It really isn’t that sweet, so he chugs it down as quickly as possible, and jolts when Iwai claps him on the back once he’s done.

“Was that so hard?” he asks, and it would probably sound condescending, coming from anyone else. But the quality of Iwai’s voice makes it hard for the things he says to sound anything other than _gravely_ serious, so Takuto just chuckles.

“I guess not. You seem very well versed in caring for the ill.”

Iwai just shrugs. “Yeah, well, my kid is a little sickly, so you know how it goes. Had to make sure he didn’t die from a cold or anything.”

Takuto blinks at him. “You’re a dad?”

“Huh?” Iwai says, leaning over to gather the rest of the bag into his hands. “Yeah. I’ve got a son.” He moves into Takuto’s kitchen like he didn’t just drop an absolute bomb on his not-quite-a-coworker, and Takuto scrambles into leaning against the back of his couch.

“Wait, you’re seriously a _father_?”

Iwai grunts, and Takuto winces at the sound of him rummaging around in Takuto’s kitchen. “Yeah, well, I don’t go around talking about it. What have you eaten today?”

“Nothing?” Takuto says weakly. He gets the distinct feeling that was the wrong answer at the look Iwai shoots him.

“I’m going to make you some soup. Something light, don’t worry.” And then he adds, strangely soft. “Go to sleep.”

Takuto wants to protest, but sleep _does_ sound pretty good, and he supposes he has time to uncover the mystery of Iwai’s apparent fatherhood at a later time. “…okay,” he says gently, and lies back in the position he’d been in before Iwai showed up. He can still feel the ghost of Iwai’s hands on his skin, even as his head spins with his eyes closed. “Iwai?” he says quietly. Iwai just makes a noise from the kitchen like he’s listening. “Thanks… for this. I know you probably have to take care of your son too—”

“Thought I told you to go to sleep?”

Takuto presses fever hot hands to his neck. “Right.”

\--

“You know, gift giving is a love language.” Takuto says, out of the blue. He doesn’t quite know where it came from, but it makes Iwai pause and glance up with a raised eyebrow. He’s halfway through another dish Takuto has forced on him, though he’s largely stopped complaining about _handouts_ and has settled into this strange, new routine.

This, though, apparently gives him pause. “You tryn’ to confess or something?”

“No!” Takuto says, throwing his hands up with a nervous laugh. “No, just… thinking out loud I suppose. I used to… well, I used to do things like this all the time at my old job. Enough snacks and people will do pretty much anything.”

Iwai munches at his food thoughtfully, eyes trained firmly on Takuto. He seems to like to watch Takuto while he works, though that’s probably just because he doesn’t have anything to do a lot of the time. “Lot of power,” he says finally. Takuto laughs. He certainly had plenty of that. “What’d you used to do?”

Takuto takes a deep breath and sets down the pellet gun he was fiddling with nervously. “Ah, I was a counsellor. I worked mostly with, um, with kids. I even had my own clinic, there for a while, though I spent a majority of my time last year employed by a high school.

Iwai makes a considering noise. “Don’t really care for psychiatrists. Nobody needs to see the shit in my head but me.”

Takuto smiles. “I’m not _quite_ a psychiatrist, but I get that a lot. To be honest, it’s rather draining for the doctors as well. I—” he takes a deep breath. “There are a lot of people that just don’t want to be helped.”

Iwai levels him with one of his Looks, like Takuto is saying nonsense introspective bullshit. “Then don’t help ‘em.”

“It’s not—” he starts, and catches his own tongue. It _is_ that easy. That’s what he’s been doing, after all. Not helping. He’d stepped back from his world, his fantasy, and just stopped helping people, after everything. It isn’t his responsibility anymore to take care of ecery person that crosses his path. He isn’t in charge of the world’s wellbeing.

He meets Iwai’s look with his own metered gaze. “You’re pretty insightful.”

“Yeah?” Iwai says, glancing down at the gun he’s been tinkering with. “Don’t sound too surprised. Maybe you’re just prone to bullshit.”

\--

Takuto meets Kaoru within his first month at Untouchable. He’s not quite sure what to do when some plain looking teenager walks through to door on a slow Friday afternoon, but he’s alone in the shop, Iwai having stepped out to pick up a delivery. Iwai is usually very strict on his “no kids and no troublemakers” policy, but the boy standing in the door looks for the life of him like he doesn’t have a dangerous bone in his body. He’s hiding behind his thin wire glasses and choppy hair, gaze flitting around nervously when he clocks that it’s just Takuto inside of the store.

“Is… dad…?” he asks.

“Dad?” Maruki says, a little shocked. He leans forward in the chair he’s occupying in Iwai’s place. “Oh, Iwai? You must be Kaoru!”

Kaoru nods, folding his hands in front of him. “We, uh, got released from cram school early. Is he around?”

Takuto hisses sympathetically. “You just missed him. I’m sure he’ll be back in no time.”

Kaoru nods again, and moves through the door clumsily, as if he’s not sure how to behave in the shop or in Takuto’s presence.

“You’re… the new hire?” Kaoru asks, rather suddenly.

Takuto half jumps, reaching up to push his glasses up his nose. He’s worried he’s doing the wide eyed, opened mouth look Iwai says makes him “look like a jackass” so he shuts his mouth. “Yeah, um. Right now, at least. I know your dad had someone working for him before I showed up.” _I put him back in prison._ He doesn’t add, because if anything, he needs his boss’s kid to _not_ be terrified of him.

“Yeah the—” Kaoru makes a vague gesture with his hand at his straight black hair like it’s a big mess of curls.

“Akira,” Takuto says with a smile.

Kaoru nods. “Akira.” His cheeks are turning a very distinct shade of pink and _hm._ That’s certainly a surprise.

Silence settles a little heavily around them after, and Takuto plays with his hands in his lap distractedly. “You’re in school, right? How’s that going?”

“Oh,” Kaoru says quietly “F-fine, I guess. Dad’s doing his best to make sure I can get ahead, so I’m trying to study hard.”

“Hm,” Maruki hums. “That sounds nice. Do you like it, Kaoru-kun?”

Kaoru opens his mouth, and then the bell over the door jingles, and Iwai pushes back into his shop.

“Out for a smoke,” Iwai grunts, and keeps the door held open. He looks very pointedly at Kaoru. “C’mon. I got your message.”

\--

Takuto thinks of meeting Kaoru like a hastily patched leak. He’s met plenty of kids just like him—shy, a little on the quiet side—but he can see the traces Iwai has left in him. He’s still his son, through and through.

He comes in once or twice a week, usually when Takuto is around, and they make small talk half awkwardly. Iwai always comes to sweep him away after not too long.

But they talk enough, and Iwai is never _quite_ as firm as he is with most things, so despite the stilted conversation and awkward silences, Kaoru starts to open up with enough time.

Takuto feels rusty, not having had to carry conversation all on his own since he was practicing, but he knows this dance, has done it with patients and classmates in the years before and after he broke into therapy. He’s surprised to find gentleness in Kaoru, an unspoken but easily understood vulnerability he hadn’t expected Iwai to put up with in his kids.

They talk about school, about Kaoru’s classmates he barely speaks to, and Takuto works him through some of his anxieties and problems, the old rusty gears warming gently as he asks him about stress, and realizes with a start that he’s counseling his bosses kid.

“It’s just hard,” Kaoru says, leaning against the display case by the door. Takuto is in his regular spot for Kaoru’s visits, the chair Iwai normally occupies that gives him a clear view of the alley outside and every spot within. “Try to connect with people my age. I always feel like it’s… an act. Some kind of performance they’re putting on for me.”

Takuto hums, considering, and taps at his chin with one of Iwai’s pens. “People aren’t usually so prone to faking an intrest in other people normally. I think you should try taking their intrest at face value. What ulterior motives could they have?”

“I guess,” Kaoru mumbles, but his face looks a little brighter, like the sun between parting clouds. “M-maybe… maybe next time I’ll just… see what happens. If I say yes.”

Takuto gets the strong urge to cross the space and ruffle his hair. Iwai raised a good kid.

 _Speak of the devil_ , he thinks, as Iwai walks through the door. He jerks his head in Kaoru’s direction, and Takuto smiles when Kaoru shouts a goodbye. He knows Iwai will be back within half an hour, but he feels… light. Talking to Kaoru makes him feel the way he did when he was just starting in his practice, overeager and bright eyed, ready to solve every problem in the world. And maybe he can’t just raise Kaoru’s confidence levels independently anymore, but he can start to see the shine of a change in Kaoru’s eyes, unbidden to any supernatural power.

Takuto tips his head back, and smiles.

\--

“The hell’re you on about?” Iwai says gruffly.

Takuto tugs at his bangs, a nervous habit he _really_ should work on kicking. “I was just wondering why you’re always so quick to rush Kaoru out when he stops by.”

“He doesn’t need to be in here.” Iwai says. “Didn’t start this place so he could skip lessons at my damn airsoft shop.”

Takuto laughs. “He’s a good kid. Seems a little stressed, but otherwise doing well.”

“What do you know about—”

“Maruki!” It’s Kaoru again, bursting through the door of the shop loudly. He looks refreshed, eyes bright and wobbly grin in place. He’s slightly breathless, like he’s run from the station. “You were right! I just asked if they wanted to hang out and I took it at face value! It’s—oh. Hi, dad.”

Iwai glances at Kaoru, and then back at Takuto, and then Kaoru again. Finally, his gaze seems to settle on Takuto. “Have you been thearapy-ing my son on the side?”

Takuto snorts unattractively. “Not on purpose.”

Takuto glances at Kaoru and sees his face fall a bit, going slightly red around his ears. “What are you guys talking about?”

Iwai groans, and pushes back in his chair. “Goddamn it, Maruki. I got you workin’ at my store for free, and you keep bringing me _food_ , and now you’re givin’ my son free therapy?”

Takuto shrugs with a smile. “I’ve got to do something with my degree.”

Kaoru’s mouth falls open. “You’re a _therapist_?”

Takuto winks. “Counselor. Er, researcher, actually. Doctor Maruki, at your service.”

“Oh my god,” Iwai groans. “You make me so angry. You make me angry every day.”

Takuto laughs and turns when he sees Kaoru turn red. “I’m so sorry, Doctor Maruki! I wouldn’t have burdened you with my problems like that if I had known—”

“It’s fine,” Takuto says with a wave of his hand. “Honestly, I had friends who used to come for me to the free therapy. I was just happy to help. And, uh, sorry back, I suppose.” He rubs at the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I usually try not to psychoanalyze without consent.”

“You,” Iwai says, with a pointed finger. “You’re going to come over, and I’m going to make you dinner, and you’re going to stop making me feel like a poor bastard.”

Maruki laughs, and dusts off a display. “Who am I to deny you, Iwai-san?”

\--

Maruki goes to Iwai’s for dinner, and ends up standing in the kitchen, watching Iwai fail to sauté vegetables.

“Can I?” Takuto laughs, setting down the cup of tea he’d been cradling for the better part of his visit.

Iwai throws him a glance. “I _got_ it. Been cooking for my son for the last seventeen years of his life—”

Takuto just rests a hand on top of Iwai’s where he has a death grip on a wooden spoon. “I didn’t say that,” Takuto corrects gently. “I just think one of us has been obsessively cooking for the past few weeks, and the other is very quickly burning our dinner.”

“ _Please_ help him,” Kaoru calls from the living room.

“Hey!” Iwai barks, but he steps back anyway. “You _only_ grill fish when you cook. There is absolutely no room for criticism.”

“At least I use _seasoning_ ,” Kaoru shoots back, and Takuto can’t help his laugh.

It’s strange, Takuto thinks. He grew up an only child, and his family certainly wasn’t _distant_ , but there’s an unmistakable bond between Iwai and Kaoru that Takuto never really experienced. He glances over his shoulder as he sees Iwai smush his hat against the black of Kaoru’s head, and he turns back to the food, humming happily.

Would this have been what it was like if he’d had a family? If he and Rumi had settled down, and had a son with Takuto’s eyes and Rumi’s temperament, would he be standing in the kitchen, chatting happily with his wife right now?

There’s something tight settling in his throat, and he realizes embarrassingly that he kind of wants to cry. He thought he was better than this, was coming back to himself but he’s still…

Takuto steps back when Iwai returns, smiling without his heart in it as Iwai sets chicken to grill, the sharp scent of cooking black pepper giving him an excuse to let his eyes water.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and it feels like he’s opening his eyes when he looks at Iwai, his head tilted to the side in concern. “Are you okay?” he asks. It’s just low enough that Kaoru can’t hear him in the living room.

“Fine,” Takuto croaks. “Just… this all got me thinking about. The past. My life.”

“Old scars?” Iwai offers again.

Takuto nods. “Old scars.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and Takuto takes a deep, shaky breath, and realizes that’s really all they are. Old wounds he keeps picking open to punish himself. _You break a pot_ , he thinks.

“You really should put something other than pepper on that,” Takuto says quietly.

Iwai grunts. “Shut up.”

\--

“You sure you don’t me to call you a cab or somethin’?” Iwai says at the door, watching Maruki brace himself against the wall to get his shoes back on.

“It’s alright,” Takuto says, with a smile. “The trains are still running, after all.”

“You should come over more often,” Kaoru says gently. “Dad’s culinary skills are… well…”

Iwai presses his mouth together in a straight line, but he doesn’t refute Kaoru, just rubs at the back of his neck. “You do make some pretty good food.”

Takuto pauses at the admittance, suddenly shocked. He’s been making food for Iwai for weeks now, and the only reason he hasn’t stopped is because Iwai hasn’t admitted he _hated_ it. But he’s never gotten a compliment, either. Inexplicably, he feels his face warming, ears probably going red. “I’d love to,” he says, and his voice is pulling tight again, choked up on some emotion he can’t immediately recognize.

“Mm, good.” Iwai says. Takuto can’t help the little upturn of his mouth when Iwai smiles. “I’m holding you to that.”

\--

Iwai doesn’t even have to ask. Takuto pours over his cooking books, and he buys more when he loses excitement about the recipes he already has, he cooks for the Iwai’s, and he masterfully juggles two jobs like a pro.

He has a list on his phones of the foods Iwai likes (The one’s that make him go “Not bad, dollface”) and underneath that, has started keeping track of Kaoru’s favorite meals as well (though that’s a bit more difficult, because Kaoru is just so _earnest_ about everything. (And he always seems to prefer the occasional cake Takuto picks up on the way to their house over any savory dish.))

“So, a counselor?” Kaoru says, one night, leaning over the counter. Takuto is stationed at their stove, stirring a pot of French onion soup delicately. It’s a recipe he’d been interested in trying for some time, and he’d gotten off of his shift at the flower shop, opting to text Iwai if it was alright if he made dinner that night. He knows Iwai tends to prefer lighter foods, and Kaoru is strangely attached to western dishes, so he’d picked up groceries after he’d gotten off work. It had felt strangely domestic, even in the rough way Iwai had informed him that the house was empty, save for Kaoru, but _feel free to knock yourself out_.

Takuto nods. “I was really focused on my research into… well, doesn’t matter. But I had a, um, friend suffering from some really terrifying neuroses, so I kind of fell into it looking for a way to help her. Oh! That’s not to say I don’t love it.” He holds a hand up, waving gently. “It’s my favorite thing in the world. I just… Well, I suppose it gets frustrating when you can’t help everyone.”

“That makes sense,” Kaoru says.

“What about you, Kaoru-kun?” Takuto says. He has to keep stirring the onions in a few minutes, but he turns the heat down a bit and turns to lean against the counter. “What are you working towards?”

Kaoru looks surprised, like he doesn’t get the question often. “Oh, um. I’m really interested in working in social services. I guess I’ve always thought I was pretty lucky to land Iwai as a dad, and I think more kids need that chance.”

Takuto smiles. “Hey, that’s great.”

Kaoru laughs bashfully. “Yeah, it’s… well, I haven’t talked about it with him yet. I only really started thinking about it recently.”

“You should tell him,” Takuto says sincerely. He looks around exaggeratedly, before lowering his voice and cupping his mouth like he’s telling Kaoru a secret. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I think he really worries about if he’s actually doing a good job.” He adds. “I think he’s doing pretty great.”

Kaoru beams. “Me too.”

\--

The second time Takuto misses work, it’s because he has a panic attack.

He’s sitting on the floor of his bedroom, staring straight at the wall, and he thinks he’s dying. _It’s karma,_ he tells himself, hands scratching uselessly at the floor. _It’s karma, it’s karma, it’s karma, it’s karma—_

He hears his phone ring. Or maybe he thinks he hears his phone ring. It sounds a million miles away but it’s also _loud_ , and when he lifts his hands up to cover his ears, realizes he’s shaking.

He’s had panic attacks before, though they were more frequent when he was in college. He knows what to do, knows how to breathe to settle his own heart, but he also feels as though this is some kind of reparation. Divine intervention. He’s done the worst things to the nicest people, has tried to make he world into his own selfish playground, and now he’s shaking like a leaf on his floor, and he has no one to call, and he deserves it. He’ll let it run its course.

At least, that’s what he thinks he’ll do.

His phone rings again, and Takuto crawls to his nightstand to take his phone in shaky hands. It’s Iwai. What time is it? How long has he been lain out on the floor trying not to dig his nails into his skin? He has to try three times before he can answer correctly, and then he just puts the phone on speaker, and leans against the side of his bed with a shaky breath.

“ _Maruki?_ ” Iwai’s voice crackles over the line. “ _Where are you? You’re usually here by now on Thursdays.”_

Is it that late? He was sure he was only an hour or so late to the flower shop not—not—

“ _Maruki._ ” There’s an edge of slight panic on Iwai’s voice that rocks Takuto out of his daze slightly. He’s never heard Iwai sound like that. Maybe he has? He’s not sure.

“I’m here,” he says, and _shit_ , his voice is wavering, warbly and wet like he’s been crying. He hasn’t, not today, is having too much trouble remembering how to take deep breaths to be able to muster up any tears. “I’m here I’m just… sorry. I shouldn’t have picked up the phone.”

“ _What’s wrong? You sound like shit.”_

Takuto huffs out a laugh and then he gasps quietly, all of the air punched out of him by that one sound. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe he’s going to _die_ —

“ _Talk to me, dollface._ ”

“Why do you call me that?” he rushes out, just to have something to say. “Dollface. W-why do you call me that?”

Iwai is quiet for a few, terrifying moments, and the crushing weight in Takuto’s chest gets heavier. “ _You’ve got a damn doll’s face,_ ” He says, after what feels like an eternity. “ _All placid and shit. First day you walked into my store I would have sworn you were a robot, you looked so stiff. And your skin is frustratingly clear, no acne scars or nothing, and that’s just what I thought of. Not to mention your eyes.”_

Takuto takes a deep breath. Iwai is… his voice is nice. Low and scratchy over the phone, deep in a way Takuto would be envious of if he hadn’t settled his grievances with his physicality years ago. Listening to him is making the pressure on his chest lighter, making it feel less like he’s drowning, or burning alive. “What about my eyes?”

“ _Maruki—_ ”

“Please,” Takuto begs. “I need your help, I need you to just—keep talking. It doesn’t have to be for long.”

Another pause, a shift from the other end, and a strangely relived sigh. “ _You didn’t have shit going on behind them when we met. They were empty, like… I don’t know. They’re so dark. It’s like they swallowed all of the light in my store.”_ There’s another pause, and Takuto just lets himself listen to Iwai breathe for a moment. “ _I don’t… hate the way you look. I don’t call you that because I don’t like it._ ”

“Oh,” Takuto says. It’s not a compliment, not really, but it makes his stomach do a little flip, his heart rate picking up from where it had slightly slowed down. “I didn’t know that,” he whispers.

“ _Do you want me to come over there? I can shut down for a little while, I’m sure things’ll be fine.”_

“That’s alright,” Takuto sighs. He’s still got tunnel vision, and his hands are still shaking, but this is good. It’s much better. “Can you stay on the phone, though? You don’t even have to talk.”

Iwai exhales. “ _Alright_.”

\--

They don’t talk about the panic attack after it happens. Takuto thanks him once he’s calmed down enough that it feels less like he’s liable to pass out at any moment, and he brings Iwai banana bread the next day, and they don’t talk about it.

But Takuto _thinks_ about it. Iwai had been so patient and had let himself ramble as Takuto tried to remember how to get air through his lungs properly. He’d told Takuto about what was happening at the shop, about his plans for the weekend. Takuto had even laughed once or twice when he’d managed to pull out that dry humor that usually makes him snort in the middle of his shifts. It felt comfortable, like he’d known Iwai for years, and he wishes, well, he wishes they could just talk like that more often. Not about work, or anything. Just how Iwai is doing, what’s happening in his life, the last thing Kaoru bought with his allowance.

He likes Iwai, he realizes. Enjoys his company and his humor and his house, and he’s not quite sure what that means. He hasn’t had friends in some time, too busy with trying to write every wrong in humanity, but he wonders if that’s what they are now. _Friends_.

He’s not sure he deserves it, just yet.

\--

“A cab driver?” Iwai says in disbelief. “What happened to the flower shop?”

Takuto shrugs. “I’ll still be working there. I’m just driving cabs some days. I decreased my hours at the shop, too. I’m trying to keep moving.”

Iwai grunts, pushing his laptop across the small table between counters. “Is that you tryn’a tell me I shouldn’t be counting on you to stick around much longer?”

“No!” Takuto says quickly. For some reason, the idea of having to leave Untouchable makes his stomach lurch. “No, I’m, uh, afraid you’re stuck with me for the time being. Unless you want to fire me?”

“Nah,” Iwai says dismissively. “Shop hasn’t been this clean since I bought it. Actually, I don’t even think it was this good then, either.”

Another few moments pass, and Takuto sets his duster down on the table. “I think I’m… stuck. My whole world kind of got flipped upside down some time back, and I think I’m still trying to figure out what to do now. I thought a new hobby, a new job, might help.”

“Hence the cooking?”

“Hence the cooking.”

Iwai laughs quietly. “If you really want something interesting to do, I’ve got an idea.”

\--

“Um,” Takuto says.

He really wants to know why trying to uproot the world led him to standing in front of a thick plastic screen, holding an airsoft gun. “ _Um_ ,” he says again, louder, and jumps when he hears Iwai fire next to him. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Relax, dollface,” Iwai says, chuckling. “They’re not even real guns.”

“I don’t really think that’s the problem,” Takuto says nervously, jumping again when Iwai’s shoulders roll back, and his gun lets out another half-muffled shooting noise as he fires at one of the targets in front of them. He nails one of the far targets precisely, and steps back to look at Takuto.

“You chicken? What’s the hold up?”

“I don’t know how to _do_ this,” Takuto says seriously, and lowers the airsoft gun back down to the table. He has two trembling hands wrapped around the handle, and Iwai looks so easy with his fake riffle and his great posture.

“Weren’t you the one going on about new experiences ‘n shit? It ain’t that hard, just aim,” he lifts the gun again and Takuto’s eyes go to follow the motion, “and _shoot._ ” He fires, three distinct times, adjusting the barrel of the gun easily, and Takuto watches three holes appear in the center of three different targets.

“Why are you so good at this?” Takuto demands shrilly.

Iwai shrugs. “Shit with the clan used to get messy. I’ve had my fair share of target practice.”

Takuto blinks once, twice, and then says, “What?”

Iwai lowers the gun again. “I never mentioned my run with the Yakuza?”

Takuto blinks again. “ _What?_ ”

Iwai waves a hand dismissively, like this is something he mentions all the time. “It was a long time ago. I’m out of it now, especially with Kaoru and shit.” He fully rests his gun down. “Let me help you.”

Takuto feels slightly unmoored. He’d always thought Iwai had a sort of rugged appearance, but he’s also stood in his kitchen and heard him get clowned on by his son. He’d have never thought the _yakuza_ —

Takuto jumps when he feels a hand rest gently on his elbow. “You’ve got to _lift_ the gun,” Iwai says, like it’s obvious, somewhere very close to his ear, and Takuto has to clamp his mouth shut to keep from yelping. There’s another hand on his shoulder, pulling Takuto’s spine straight, and Iwai gently moves him until Takuto is standing firmly on his feet, arms straight out and gun just under his line of sight. “There you go,” Iwai says quietly into his ear, and Takuto shivers, catalogues how rougher Iwai’s voice is when he’s purposefully lowering it. “Did I scare you? Would you rather not know my dark past?” he says, voice light.

Takuto swallows. “We’ve all done things we regret.”

“Yeah? What’s the worst some skinny, middle-aged counselor could get into?”

Takuto remembers seeing from the eyes of a god, controlling a hand the size of a building. Winter’s air, blood on his skin. “You wouldn’t believe me,” he says quietly.

“It’s your baggage,” Iwai says against his ear, hand sliding back across his arm to grip gently at Takuto’s waist. Another uncharacteristic shiver ripples through Takuto’s body. “You tell me if you wanna.”

Instead, Takuto pulls the trigger.

“Nice,” Iwai chuckles, when he misses the target by a long shot. He’s still not moving, though, a hand still wrapped about Takuto’s waist, the other feather light against his elbow. “You’re shit at this,” he says, and Takuto has to hold back a _noise_ when his mouth just barely brushes the outside of his ear. “Maybe you should stick to the cooking, huh, dollface?”

“M-maybe,” Takuto says on an exhale. He’s not breathing, not at all, even as he feels himself tip back slightly into Iwai’s space. He doesn’t know what’s _happening_ to him right now, other than that Iwai’s body is warm against his, and his hands on Takuto’s skin are grounding in a way he didn’t really expect. He can’t find it within himself to hate it.

“Why don’t you aim, next time?” he says, and finally steps away. Takuto lets oxygen rush back into his chest, and watches Iwai lift his gun unceremoniously, as though he didn’t just try and knock Takuto’s feet out from underneath him with a few easy touches.

Takuto squares his shoulders up again and lifts the gun.

\--

“Good afternoon!”

“Oh, hi, Kaoru,” Takuto says, leaning back with a smile. Iwai glances up from his catalogue with a raised eyebrow, finger falling away from where he was pointing at a few base models they were getting shipped in next week.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at cram school by now?”

“I just stopped by on my way through,” Kaoru says, tugging his bag further up his shoulder. “I-is that alright?”

“It’s fine,” Iwai grunts.

“He’s happy to see you,” Takuto translates, and just smiles when Iwai shoots him an irritated look.

“Oh! Okay. I just stopped by to see, um, if you wanted to come over for dinner, Doctor Maruki? It’s my turn to cook.”

Takuto opens his mouth to respond, but Iwai cuts him off with a soft huff. “Aren’t you supposed to be focused on your schoolwork right now? Exams are right around the corner.”

“I-I know, but—”

“I’ll cook tonight. Don’t worry about it. Just… focus on your work, kid.”

Takuto has to press his lips together to keep from saying anything when Kaoru’s face falls. “Right, dad. Sorry.”

“I can come over another time, okay, Kaoru? Sorry, dad’s rules.”

“Right,” Kaoru says, with an empty laugh. “I’ll get going, then.”

Kaoru is barely out of the door when Takuto turns on Iwai. “What was that about?”

Iwai looks back down at the catalogue. “His job is to focus on his studies. I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Iwai.” Takuto clicks his tongue when Iwai keeps looking resolutely at his catalogue. He reaches out and pushes it down onto the surface of the table in front of Iwai, unphased when Iwai gives him his patented stink eye. He’s been working here too long to still be as affected by it the way he once was. “He seemed excited to cook.”

Iwai clicks his tongue. “He’s just trying to get out of his work. I’m not—”

Takuto puts a hand on Iwai’s head, and it apparently startles him well enough that he clamps his mouth shut. “You’re making it seem like all you care about is his grades. Doesn’t he work hard _all_ the time?”

“Well, ‘course—”

“And how do you think he felt about one opprotunity to take a break and make dinner for his dear old dad?”

Iwai frowns. “I’m not old.”

Takuto shrugs, and moves around the counter into the store proper. “That may be true. But give him a break sometime. He needs to know you care about _him_ and not just his scores.”

Iwai just blinks at him for a moment or two, before he tugs his hat down over his eyes. “Aw, hell. You’re—” he growls. “Frustrating, Maruki.”

Takuto leans over the counter and pats Iwai on the head one more good time. “It’s my job.”

\--

He realizes he’s falling in love with Iwai the way you realize a train is about to crash. He’s not even at work, is shuffling around his house preparing for his shift with his cab, when he grabs his keys off of the kitchen table. And right next to his keys is the open book of recipes, and the little page of dishes he’s cooked and crossed off once he’d served them to Iwai. Some bear smiley faces, which are the dishes that had made Iwai’s eyes sparkle, and the other are empty, save for one crossed through several times, that he’d seen Iwai discarding gently, not trying to show him that he hadn’t taken more than a few bites of it. He picks up the paper, and his heart clenches, and Takuto blanches, because he knows this feeling. He knows the way his heart pinches when he thinks of Iwai’s smile, the way he can’t suppress his own grin when the memory of Iwai’s laugh echoes through his head.

He’s falling in love.

Takuto sits down at his table, his shift be damned. He can’t… he _can’t._ He’s barely a person, still a shell seeking out something to fill the emptiness that getting stripped of his ambitions had created, but it hasn’t been long enough, he hasn’t _healed_.

He spent so long looking into the workings of the human heart, he’d been convinced for a while that he didn’t have one.

He’d loved Rumi so wholly, so unconditionally. She’d been his everything for years and years, and when she’d left him, Takuto was sure she’d taken his heart with her. But, he realizes with a start, he can see some of Rumi in Iwai. Her aggressiveness, the anger that used to pop up over the mundane. Iwai is gentle, and blunt, but he’s not Rumi. Takuto hadn’t been trying to replace her, not even when he’d left that hospital with Rumi’s name on his tongue.

But he thinks about Iwai’s house, the sounds of sharing dinner with Iwai’s family, the gentle way Iwai touches him in their shop, when he has to move past and just rests a hand high on Takuto’s back, if only for a moment.

Takuto has been picking up the pieces of his life for a month, and Iwai seems to be present every time he puts them back into place.

He huffs out a laugh, that spirals into a sob, and Takuto drops his head on his arms. He thinks he should feel guilty. He’d nearly ruined the world, and here he is, imposing himself on some man’s life, in his shop, falling in love with him and counseling his son. He’s a mess.

He still goes to work, because he’s nothing if not a man of routine, especially when things start to grow chaotic. He drives around, picking up passengers, fetching one young couple from an airport and ushering an old woman home from the grocery store, helping her carry her bags up to her apartment door. She tips him generously, and Takuto he climbs back into his car with blood rushing through his head.

When did he turn into such a loser? He thinks about calling Shibusawa, but they haven’t spoken except for exchanging pleasantries since Takuto published his paper what feels like years ago. He has no one, save for Iwai really, and he can’t talk to him about this _either._

He’s leaning against his steering wheel, staring out into the road, when he catches a mop of black hair that makes his heart stop.

Because Takuto doesn’t believe in fate, not really, not anymore, but he puts his car in drive and turns the corner upon the Phantom Thieves, and he wonders if he needs to do a reassessment on that.

Akira looks startled when the window rolls down. Takuto pays it no mind.

“Need a hand?”

\--

“It’s good to see you,” Akira says, when his friends’ car pulls away.

Takuto laughs, adjusting his rear-view mirror out of nervousness more than anything else. “I feel like I should be the one saying that. You seem well, Kurusu.”

“Well,” Akira says, with a shrug by way of explanation. “Better than being in jail.”

Takuto laughs, and then feels a little strange about it, as though that’s not really something he should be making light of. He pulls away from the corner. “You’ve certainly been through the ringer.”

“You don’t blame yourself, do you?” Akira says suddenly, and Maruki jumps a bit, glances in the rearview mirror. “For the world, I mean. Or any of it, really.”

Maruki shrugs, taking a corner gently. “We all have bad days. I’m certainly working on it.”

Akira smiles at him in the mirror. “That’s good. You seem happy.”

Takuto sucks in a breath. Does he? He’d assumed all of his little activities had come from a place of distraction, but the more he cooks, the more he works, sorting flowers and meeting people, he realizes that he _does_ enjoy them. The way he enjoys being with Iwai, the way he enjoys teaching Kaoru.

Instead of the million things on his mind, he settles with, “I think I owe you an apology.”

He hears a startled meow from Akira’s bag, and it’s all Takuto can do to smile. Akira tilts his head, in the rear view. “For what, exactly?”

It punches a laugh out of Takuto unexpectedly, because he’d thought Akira would be at least a little bit aware of all the shit Takuto put him through. “For… using you. The way I did.”

“Doctor—”

“No, no. Please.” He takes the next corner and feels his throat closing up again, on a breath he just can’t catch. _Fuck_ , he’s pathetic. “Let me do this,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have… hell, Akira. I shouldn’t have picked you apart like that, just for my own plans. You, a-and Takamaki, and Sakamoto, _everyone_. They all came to me looking for answers, but with you I only responded in questions.” Akira just blinks in the backseat, like he’s waiting for Takuto to carry on. He does, quietly. “I told you I wouldn’t have finished my research without your help, and it was _true_. I used you to turn the world in that… that dream.” He laughs to himself. “That’s all it was, in the end. A dream.”

“It was a nice dream, at least,” Akira offers. and Takuto still doesn’t feel the breath caught in his chest leave, but it eases a bit.

He owes Akira the world, when he thinks about it, the silence stretching on in the car as they make turns towards the station. Akira saved everyone and he saved _Takuto_ , first and foremost. He thinks about Iwai, and his rough hands, his deep voice, and he knows that if he’d stayed in that world, he would have become a god, but he’d have been a ghost, too. Doomed to haunt the paradise he built for everyone himself. He’s no savior, he’s a middle-aged idiot driving cabs all day long, and having panic attacks in his room, and making food for a man he thinks he’s in love with. He’s human, painfully, and wholly. And he realizes that maybe, that isn’t so bad.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, because he’s apparently a sad, old man with no friends, and he’s come to think of Akira as a valuable source of insight, even after all this time. “For… someone like me. Do you think I deserve to be happy?”

Akira tilts his head again. “Like you?”

Takuto chuckles. “Well, you know, ‘take over the world and force their desires onto those around them.’ Like me.”

Akira’s mouth tilts down into a frown. “When I was with the Phantom Thieves, we took down corrupt politicians and twisted perverts. We fought the manifestation of the public consciousness, and one of my closest friends shot me in the head.” He laughs, and shakes his head, and even if Takuto _knows_ Akira’s history it’s still shocking, thinking of it that way. “I think if anyone deserves to start over, it’s you.”

Takuto breathes deep and tries for a smile. “You were always the perceptive type. Did that come before or after the ability to see into people’s hearts?”

Akira tugs at the edge of his bangs. “You tell me.”

Maruki drives him to the train station, pulling up outside and shifting the car into park. He watches Akira gather his bags, and start to slide out of the door, before Takuto opens his mouth. “You know… I think I’m going to keep trying to do that. Starting over. I told a lot of people how to run from their problems but… maybe I should have been teaching them how to start over.” He flashes a smile, big and blinding in Akira’s direction, and reaches out with his hand curled into a fist. “If that ever ends up saving you, I think we’re pretty even.”

Akira smiles back, and reaches out to tap his knuckles gently against Takuto’s.

He’s got a future to look forward to. And Takuto thinks, he’s got a few more pieces to put back into place before he reaches for it.

\--

“Where were you?” Iwai asks, when Takuto shows up at his door holding two bags of groceries.

“I saw a friend,” he says with a grin. “I should do that more often.”

\--

Takuto decides if he’s going to fall in love, he has to get his shit together.

He writes more recipes, and even comes up with one or two, brings them around for Iwai when he gets the chance. He’s gotten more expressive, even murmuring _Pretty good_ on a couple occasions that makes him feel like a teenager in love, heart fluttery and warm in his chest.

He still doesn’t know Iwai’s favorite food, and for some reason, that feels important. He gets a raise at his flower shop and decides to use the extra money to invest in some new supplies, some better ingredients. He stops thinking what if, stops thinking about personas and Adam Kadmon and the world at his feet, and he starts thinking about _when_.

He’s at Iwai’s, bullshitting around in the kitchen while Iwai works quietly at his laptop—and really, he thinks, he spends more time in Iwai’s kitchen than his own, these days—and looks up when the door shuts loudly.

“Welcome home!” he calls cheerfully, lifting a soaked spoon at Kaoru when he waves.

“Hey, kid,” Iwai calls. “How was cram school?”

“Fine,” Kaoru says, shrugging off his school bag, and moving towards the fridge. He takes out one of the containers of leftovers from the _last_ meal Takuto made, and it makes Takuto’s heart warm affectionately. “A little overwhelming.”

“Are you doing okay?” Takuto says, turning to put the tomato sauce he’s working on to simmer. “Taking care of your mental health is—”

“Just as important as my physical health. _Yeah_ , I know. You’ve told me.”

All sound abruptly stops, save for the gentle simmering of the sauce in the pan at Takuto’s waist. Kaoru is staring at him with wide eyes, still holding a container of leftovers. Takuto presses his lips together. Kaoru has never _snapped_ at him.

“Sorry,” Kaoru says, wiping a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Takuto casts a worried glance at Iwai, who’s watching Kaoru, face mildly concerned. Takuto takes a few steps towards him, just enough to put a hand on Kaoru’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright. I know I tend to get overbearing with the whole counselor bit. It’s my bad.” Takuto looks around. “If you want, I can work with you a little bit.”

Kaoru gives him a questioning look, and Takuto lifts his hand off of his shoulder, steps back to give him a bit of space. “Um, no offence doctor Maruki, but you’re not a tutor. And, uh, I have one of those already.”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of mental training! I, ah—” Akira’s face pops into his head. “I actually used to help Kurusu-kun with some mental training. It can help with focus and academic success.”

“Really?” Kaoru says, and he doesn’t even look skeptical, just wide eyed and curious.

Takuto laughs nervously. “Well, yeah! B-but, I will say, it’s not a cure-all for studying or anything. But if it can take some of the stress off of your shoulders—”

“Let’s do it,” Kaoru says, hands fisting in front of him. “I’ll take anything.”

“Okay, here um, Iwai?” Iwai glances at Takuto with a raised eyebrow. Takuto extends the spoon he was holding, and works at his apron with his free hand. “Can you watch this for… maybe ten minutes?”

“’Course,” Iwai says gruffly, and moves to take the spoon from Takuto’s hand. Their fingers brush briefly, and Takuto feels something course through him quickly, an overwhelming sort of affection he hadn’t expected.

“Come on,” he says, with a hand between Kaoru’s shoulders. When he glances back, he can see Iwai is smiling.

\--

Takuto Maruki has four jobs. He works at a flower shop, he works part time at _Untouchable_ , he drives cabs whenever he’s free, and he coaches Iwai’s son. Akira had been bright, an exceptional young man through and through—even when he wasn’t saving the world—and though Kaoru is no genius, he’s whip smart, and a fast learner.

Takuto shows him some techniques to retain material, and then other more general ways to clear his head, and then they work on Kaoru’s studies, and Takuto learns he retains information well. He’d pass with flying colors, if Takuto was grading him, and he’s grateful for the time with him, because he thinks he’s falling in love with Kaoru’s dad, and he’d rather not have his son hating him to go with it.

Takuto is waiting outside of Iwai’s door when he hears footsteps behind him. It’s Kaoru, climbing the stairs up to the apartment, hair wild like he’s been caught in a windstorm.

Takuto laughs. “What happened to you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Kaoru breathes. He puts his key in the lock and Takuto steps in after him, toeing his shoes off by the door. “I completely forgot I’d asked you if we could meet today, and I was on my way back from a diner with my friends and I realized you’d be locked out and I thought, ‘Dad’s gonna kill me if I’m the reason his boyfriend catches a cold’ and—”

“Woah,” Takuto says, putting his hands up. “Slow down. And also, um.” He glances behind him with a half-amused smile on his face. “Did you just call me Iwai’s boyfriend?”

“Huh?” Kaoru says, his face twisting into one of confusion. He looks around like he’s missing something, or like someone will jump out and tell him he’s on a cheesy prank show. “Well, yeah. Aren’t you guys—I mean. You’re here a lot, and you eat dinner with us, and you even offered to tutor me—”

“Deep breath,” Takuto corrects again. It seems like Kaoru’s a little worked up. “Me and your dad are just…” _Friends_? _Co-workers? A man with a hopeless crush and the unfortunate source of his affections?_ “We’re just buddies.” He settles on, and then reaches up to twirl the hair over his eyes. “And I kind of imposed myself on him, anyway, so.”

“But—” Kaoru starts, and then his eyes go wide, and he slaps his hand over his mouth.

“What?” Takuto says, suddenly alarmed.

Kaoru’s face flushes fast. “No! No nothing, never mind, I—uh. What’s on the agenda f-for today?” He takes a few stiff steps towards the living room, and Takuto squints his eyes, but decides not to comment on it.

“Well, I was thinking we start with some—”

\--

Takuto wakes up warmer than he thinks he’s been in years. There’s a blanket thrown over his shoulders, sliding down to cover his legs, and all the lights in his apartment are dimmed, save for the ones behind him. He yawns, shifting slightly, only to notice that there’s a weight on his shoulder, keeping him down slightly. He glances down to see ramrod straight black hair, and the gentle curve of Kaoru’s face, and he realizes that he’s _not_ in his apartment. Apparently, he fell asleep on Iwai’s couch. Looks like he wasn’t the only one.

Takuto blinks bleary eyes and yawns, ears popping and jaw pulling tight. Next is his arm, the one not pressed to Kaoru’s side, and he stretches it above his head, turning his wrist around in slow circles. Carefully, he extricates himself from under Kaoru without waking him, wrapping him in the section of the blanket that was adorning Takuto. Kaoru hums sleepily, but doesn’t wake up, tipping sideways onto the arm of the couch, and then flipping over so he can bury his face in the back cushions. Takuto smiles down at him, happy he seems to be comfortable.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.”

Takuto glances up into the kitchen at Iwai, standing against a counter. He’s sipping quietly out of a mug, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. Takuto’s heart picks up quickly when he notices Iwai isn’t wearing his usual getup, just a plain t-shirt and some baggy grey sweatpants. He looks comfortable and… soft, is the best way to put it, rounded out by the warm lighting of his small kitchen. All of the dangerous energy that usually comes with him and his loud boots, his smattering of scars is gone for a father in his kitchen, drinking coffee out of a chipped mug.

“Hi,” Takuto says quietly. He scrubs over his eyes and turns around to grab his glasses off of where they’ve been set on the table. He doesn’t remember taking them off. He realizes Iwai must have slid them off of his face and put the blanket over him and Kaoru.

“I, uh,” Iwai starts, making Takuto glance back up at him. “Well, you told me you have trouble sleeping, so I thought I should let you rest.” Takuto finds his gaze sliding back to Kaoru, asleep on the couch. “He’ll be out for the night,” Iwai says, and draws Takuto’s eyes back. He looks fond, staring at the couch like he can see his son. “Kid eats like a monster and sleeps like a rock. I’ll probably have to drag him into his bedroom.”

Takuto moves into the kitchen to lean on the counter across from the one Iwai is against. “He’s a good kid,” he says around a yawn. “Smart as a whip.”

Iwai chuckles quietly. “Yeah. I’m lucky he didn’t turn out like his old man.”

“Hey,” Takuto says, reaching out to nudge Iwai with a socked foot. “You’re pretty spectacular too.”

Iwai snorts into his drink. “Sure, dollface. Want some tea?”

Takuto sighs. “That sounds lovely.” He watches as Iwai shuffles around, putting more water in the empty kettle and setting it up on the stove. “I mean it, though. About you and Kaoru.” He throws a glance over his shoulder at the couch. “I hope he’s not too stressed about scores. They matter a lot to him.”

Iwai moves to stand next to Takuto, their shoulders brushing briefly. Takuto feels his heart give a pathetic little flutter, like a bird trapped in a cage. “Yeah, I think that be my fault,” he mumbles, hands wrapped loosely around his cup. “You said… that thing about making sure he knows I care more about him than his scores. I’m trying.” He takes a breath and Takuto looks at him sideways, tracing the strong jut of his jaw with his eyes. “I’m proud of him, y’know? But I’m always worried I never showed him there was more than being a model student.” Iwai sighs. “I was so busy making sure he didn’t become me that I forgot to let him become _him_. I think it happened, somewhere along the way. I hope so, at least.”

Takuto nudges him with a shoulder, a smile working onto his face. “You’re a good dad.”

The corners of Iwai’s mouth twitch up, but doesn’t say more, and Takuto sits in his presence while they wait for his tea.

“Hey, what time is it?” Takuto asks, when the kettle goes off.

Iwai grunts, and reaches out to move it off the stove, pulling a mug out of one of the cabinets. “’bout midnight.”

Takuto sighs and wipes a hand over his face. “The trains,” he groans, realizing the only way to get back to his apartment now is going to be taking a taxi.

“You can stay here,” Iwai says, with a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, we’ve got an extra room, so.”

Takuto takes the mug when Iwai extends it to him. His heart is picking up again, senses starting to wake with the panic of realizing he’d missed the last train, and then the realization that Iwai is suggesting he _spend the night_. “A-are you sure? I don’t want to intrude—”

Iwai cuts him off with a shrug. “Nobody is using it. Plus ‘s my fault for not waking you earlier. I forgot you weren’t around here.”

Takuto holds his tea with both hands. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He looks up with a smile. “Thank you, Iwai-san.”

“Jesus christ,” Iwai sighs. “You can call me Mune.”

Takuto’s brain crashes and reboots, and he’s left clutching his cup and staring dumbly at the little flush crawling up Iwai’s neck. He recalls what Kaoru said earlier, about thinking he and Iwai were _dating_ , and he feels his own face start to heat back. “Thanks, Mune. And, um, Tak-Takuto works fine. Too.”

Iwai fixes him with a smile that melts Takuto’s insides. “Sure, Takuto.”

\--

_Well_ , Takuto thinks, as he rolls onto his side in Iwai’s guest bed. He definitely can’t sleep.

Things have been better, lately, if he’s honest. He hasn’t been a practicing counselor in a few months now, working on his paper and trying to create a new cognitive world had taken up plenty of his time, but he keeps thinking that he’s in Iwai’s house, and in his bed, and he must be only a few walls away, sleeping peacefully.

Takuto thrashes around in his blankets. He forgot how difficult the whole… dating thing was. He doesn’t even know if Iwai— _Mune_ , his brain corrects—is gay, and an offhand comment from his son certainly isn’t confirmation. At least, it shouldn’t be, but Takuto’s heart is full of hope, sleepy thoughts turning to the feeling of Iwai’s hands when they brush his while they work, the rumble of his voice in his chest.

He’s in so deep.

He tosses and turns a bit more, before he sits up with a sigh, deciding to just go catch a late-night cab home, to text Iwai that he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake him.

At least, that’s what he thinks he’s going to do, until there’s a gentle knock to Takuto’s door. “Takuto?” Iwai says from outside, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Takuto says, pushing a hand through his no doubt messy hair. “Yeah, come in.”

Iwai pushes the door open and light cuts across the floor, a neat slice between the mattress and the open entrance. Iwai keeps a hand on the door handle, the other curled almost nervously in the edge of his shirt. “Hey… heard you were awake. Sorry, I know you can’t be super comfortable in here.”

Takuto shakes his head, keeping his voice level with Iwai’s whisper. “No, it’s okay. I don’t think I’d be able to drift off even if it was the world’s most sleep-able bed.”

Iwai lets loose a kind of half laugh. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Takuto says, scooting over on the bed so that Iwai has some place to sit.

He leaves the door open, just enough for Takuto to still be able to see the general shapes of his face in the dim light as he sits down. He’s close enough to touch, his hand just beside Takuto’s on the mattress, and Takuto feels nervousness swell like a balloon in his chest. The quiet is suffocating.

Takuto breaks it first. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Iwai glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why can’t you?”

No one moves to speak. And then, miraculously, Iwai laughs. Takuto lets out a shaky breath, leaning forward to rest on his knees. “We’re a mess,” Takuto says under his breath.

Iwai nods, leaning back on his hands. “Probably.”

Takuto takes another deep breath. “You can tell me, if you want. Just by the way. I’m not going to judge you or anything. Contractually, I’m not able to.” He nudges Iwai with his leg playfully.

Iwai huffs out another laugh. “You’re not getting my issues out of me that easy, Takuto. You’ve gotta work for those.”

Takuto’s chest tightens at the way Iwai says his first name, soft and special, like a secret. He puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, a man can try.” Iwai gives him another little laugh that makes Takuto’s stomach turn pleasantly.

And he’s sure of it now. When he glances back and sees Iwai watching him, face soft in the lowlight and body relaxed, he knows he’s in love. He’s tired of thinking about his past, of all the things he could have fixed and all the people he could have helped. He watches Iwai blink sleep heavy eyes at him and he thinks that the future is _now_ , in this bed, and in this house, in the strong line of Iwai’s shoulders and the ridges of his hands. Takuto wants him so badly it hurts.

“You know,” he blurts, “I’ve read studies that say it’s easier to sleep with another person.”

There’s a terrifyingly breathless moment where Iwai doesn’t react at all, and then he laughs, a little louder than before. “Are you flirting with me, Takuto?”

Takuto lets out what he hopes is an inaudible sigh of relief. “Just sharing a study.” He feels like Iwai is rolling his eyes behind his back. Wordlessly, Takuto shuffles back across his blankets, lifting the corner of the comforter in Iwai’s direction. “You coming?”

This time he _does_ see Iwai roll his eyes, but he moves in anyway, tucking underneath the covers. Takuto tries to ignore his heartbeat as he settles in, moving gingerly to avoid extra contact with Iwai. It’s a little uncomfortable, and a little more awkward, until Iwai growls and says, “Oh my _god_ , come here,” and grabs Takuto by the wrist, pulling him up with a yelp.

He rests his head gently on Iwai’s chest, and feels an arm moving around to hold him gently by the waist, Iwai’s other hand releasing his arm to get thrown over Iwai’s eyes. “Good?” Iwai asks quietly, and Takuto chuckles at the way he seems to be hiding behind his arm.

Takuto nods. “Great.”

\--

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, or if it’s the gentle sound of Iwai’s breathing, or his slowing heartbeat that does him in, but either way, Takuto drifts off faster than he probably ever has.

He doesn’t think it’s for long—he’s always been a light sleeper, and he wakes to sun coming through the window, almost wholly sure that’s what woke him. The first thing he thinks about when he wakes is Iwai, though that’s mostly because he shifts slightly, and feels the arm Iwai has around his waist squeeze softly. At some point in the night, Iwai has pulled Takuto fully on top of him, and Takuto doesn’t think he’s particularly _light_ , so it’s a wonder he’s not crushing him.

Shifting slightly, Takuto lays his cheek on Iwai’s chest, and can’t help the smile that spreads onto his face when Iwai’s face pinches as he wakes, eyes blinking blearily open.

“Hi,” Takuto says quietly, voice just above a whisper.

“Hi,” Iwai returns back softly, though his voice is a little rougher.

Iwai looks much of the same way he did the night before, when he slipped in the room, the short hair on top of his head ruffled slightly. Takuto probably looks a mess, from his hair down to whatever lines have cut across his face during the night, but he finds he doesn’t much care, not when Iwai’s pretty grey eyes are clearing slowly.

“Kaoru said something very funny yesterday,” Takuto says under his breath.

Iwai makes a face, and Takuto laughs, because apparently Iwai is _very_ expressive first thing in the morning. He can read, plain as day in the furrow of his brow and the way he pouts: _What the hell did that kid say?_

“He thought we were dating,” he says playfully, chin resting at the top of Iwai’s chest. He’s so close, and he’s _warm_ , and Takuto is an idiot in love.

Iwai groans and tips his head back, like he’s trying to hide his expression. Takuto can see his ears turning a very light shade of pink, which makes Takuto _giggle_ , voice high and uncharacteristically light. Cute. Iwai is so cute. “That little idiot,” he sighs.

Takuto hums. “He seemed very convinced.”

“I wonder why,” Iwai says, without looking at him.

He’s feeling a little bold, a little stupid, so Takuto raises a hand out of the sheets to cup Iwai’s face. He goes very still, but tilts his head back down when Takuto pulls him, mouth pressed into a firm, anxious line. And, like clockwork, his eyes flick down to Takuto’s mouth as he smiles, and then they stay there, following the dip of Takuto’s cupid’s bow gently. Takuto just looks back, watching Iwai’s thin top lip as his face relaxes. His top lip is smaller than his full bottom lip, and Takuto’s hand moves without him really thinking about it, moving from the stubble rough on his cheek up to his sideburns.

Iwai leans gently into the touch, eyes sliding closed at the gentle way Takuto traces over his skin. “You’re staring at my mouth,” he says quietly, and the blunt admittance makes Takuto repress a shiver.

He still is, wondering how soft Iwai’s lips are. His vision is still a little hazy without his glasses, and he can feel Iwai breathing against his chest. He laughs quietly. “Yeah.”

Iwai’s half irritated sigh reaches Takuto just before he sees his eyes opening, leveling Takuto with an unimpressed half glare. “Am I going to have to do everything myself?” he grumbles.

Takuto sighs through his nose because _really_ , he thought he was putting in effort enough. He can’t keep the smile from his face when he pulls Iwai’s face a little closer, and his mouth touches Takuto’s gently, shyly.

He’ll have to remember to thank Kaoru, later.

\--

Takuto’s job used to be talking. Days in and out of talking, and talking, with listening in equal parts, but he likes to think that as much as he can listen, he can talk.

Takuto kisses Iwai slow in the morning light of Iwai’s small guest room, and then he leans away and… they talk. Takuto talks about his life, and his old friends, even Rumi, and Iwai watches him gently, combing through the short hair at the back of Takuto’s hair with his fingers. And Iwai talks back, pausing only to pepper his face with surprisingly gentle kisses that make Takuto’s heart feel warm, and full. And they talk about them, and Kaoru, and Takuto laughs when Iwai hits him with the, _I’m not one for dating, but—_

And strangely, miraculously, this tenuous new thing between them slides into Takuto’s daily life as easily as Iwai had in the first place. He shows up to untouchable and leans over the counter to slide his mouth against Iwai’s, soft, and slow, and warm, and Iwai tries not to smile when Takuto presents him with _another_ homemade lunch, because he’s still dead set on figuring out what Iwai likes to eat most.

He tutors Kaoru, and lets himself blush when Iwai comes home and ruffles Kaoru’s hair when he presses a kiss to Takuto’s cheek. Kaoru only ever responds with a half grossed out noise and requests to keep PDA to a minimum, and Takuto thinks, well fuck. This is his life now.

He’s happy, for once. Honest to god, truly enjoying his life, but there’s one thing still… wrong. Missing. One last open door to step through. One more piece to seal to the rest.

She’s in another hospital, he learns. Has been moved around every now and then, is still… recovering. But her grandmother says, on the phone, _I think she wants to see you_ , And Takuto cries.

“I should go see her,” Takuto says, tangled up in Iwai’s sheets because the one thing that _did_ change was that now, he stays. After dinner with Kaoru where he ribs on his dad for his cooking tasting like shit, Takuto sits around with Iwai until he invites him to stay, and he finds a strange new home in Iwai’s arms, bundled under soft sheets.

Iwai just strokes his hair (he loves him, god, he loves him) and says, “Yeah. You probably should.” And like that, it’s set.

She’s in a hospital on the countryside, closer to her grandparents now. The doctors probably aren’t the best—he doesn’t know and he can’t bring himself to check, because he feels like he doesn’t deserve that involvement anymore. He’d left all those years ago, and now he wanders the hall of a hospital who’s name he’s forgotten, and he feels undeniably guilty.

The door to her room is open and Takuto thinks about turning on his heel and _bolting_ , but he’s changed, he’s new. He’s not his past anymore. The door creaks as it slides open.

Rumi looks the same, even if her hair has grown out a little longer, at her shoulders now. Takuto stands in the doorway of her hospital room uncomfortably, shuffling back in forth on his feet, because as familiar as this dance is, it never gets easier.

Not until Rumi turns her head, and Takuto nearly breaks down into tears again, because deep in the brown of her eyes is _recognition_.

“Oh,” she says, so, so quietly, like she’s trying not to wake him. “Takuto?”

Takuto bites down on his tongue, hard, to keep from saying something stupid, and fixes Rumi with a gentle smile. “Rumi. It’s so good to see you.”

Rumi smiles, slow and sweet, like she’s drunk, and Takuto takes a few wavering steps forward, to sit in the chair next to her bed. He doesn’t touch her—doesn’t know if he can—and links his hands in his lap. Rumi isn’t saying anything more, so he takes a shuddery breath, and looks back up to meet her eyes.

“Rumi, I—” _Shit_. His voice cracks, without warning, and Takuto has to take another steadying breath. It _is_ good to see her, he knows, but he doesn’t know anything about her anymore. All this time, when he could have been by Rumi’s side, walking forward with her instead of trying to get her to avoid her past and instead he’s in some airsoft shop owner’s bed, pretending like this doesn’t still eat away at him at night. Like Rumi’s name isn’t the first one on his lips after a nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. Instead of the thousands of things building up hard in his chest and flowing into his throat that burn like acid. “I’m so, sorry, Rumi. God, h-how long has it been since you even saw me? Five, six years? When you were all alone in all of these hospitals, and I was just— _fuck_.”

Rumi looks worried, but still a little dazed, and Takuto wonders if they have her on some kind of medication, if he should ask into it with her grandparents. No, no, he doesn’t deserve it, he wasn’t there to find out and he doesn’t get to know now. He digs his palms into his eyes and tries not to think about… about anything. “Rumi, I did something horrible. I… I thought I could save you. Could save everyone. I wanted to make things perfect but that’s not—that’s not my place. My place was with _you_ , should have been with you, and I messed it all up because—”

Oh, he realizes. He’s crying again. Rumi looks concerned now, is reaching out gently with a pale, bony finger, and Takuto can’t help it, collapsing into her lap like a child.

“I think I’m falling in love,” he admits brokenly. “And I-I shouldn’t because you’ll always have some part of my heart, Rumi, but I can’t take the guilt anymore, or the running, and I want to help you, but I can’t do that when I’m _in_ love with you.” She shifts her legs where Takuto is pressing his face into her thighs. “Rumi—” he cries, clutching at her bedsheets. It feels like he’s having a panic attack again, like his throat is refusing to work as he sobs, and clutches tighter at sheets that smell unfamiliar. “Rumi, I think I’m happy.”

Very gently, there’s a weight at the crown of Takuto’s head, and it stops his sniffling for a moment in confusion, before he realizes it must be Rumi’s hand. She soothes it over his hair, the way she used to before, when he’d come home broken and exhausted with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Takuto bites hard into his lip to keep from sobbing again.

“I think I’m happy,” He repeats quietly.

Rumi just strokes his hair and hums. And then, just as quietly as before, says, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

\--

He calls Iwai on the drive back to the hospital.

“Sorry,” he sniffs, clutching at the wheel of his cab. “You don’t have to say anything. Please, just… just stay on the line.”

Iwai sounds like he’s nodding. “Come over,” he says, and Takuto thinks, _I love you._

\--

Kaoru has final exams that end on a Thursday. Wednesday, Takuto bursts into untouchable and tells Iwai they need to celebrate.

“The kid’s not even done with the exams yet,” Iwai grumbles, letting Takuto lead him around a grocery store by the sleeve. “Aren’t you supposed to celebrate once scores have _already_ come out?”

Takuto clicks his tongue at the price of a small container of organic blueberries and turns around. “You said you wanted Kaoru to know he matters more to you than his academic successes, right?”

Iwai glances at his feet. “Yeah.”

“Then, you celebrate when he’s worked hard.” Takuto says gently, tugging at Iwai’s arm until he steps closer, crowding Takuto against the display of fruit. “Look at me, Mune.” With a huff, Iwai lifts his eyes, and Takuto feels his hands steady against Takuto’s hips. Takuto smiles. “You know he’s going to do great.”

“’course.”

“Then it’s okay to celebrate a little early.” Takuto glances around before leaning up to press his mouth to Iwai’s softly, and then he brushes their noses together in a way he knows makes Iwai call him sappy.

Iwai presses forward to kiss him again and Takuto lets it slide, hands resting gently on Iwai’s shoulders. He laughs when Iwai nips at one of his lips, before stepping back with a red face to tug his hat over his eyes. “Why’re you a better dad to my kid than I am?”

Takuto hums and swings the basket on his arm a bit. “Maybe not better. Different.”

“Whatever,” Iwai grumbles, and lets Takuto pull him around again anyway.

Takuto goes home with all of the groceries and sorts through the list of Iwai’s notes on his phone, the ones with smiley faces and hearts next to certain dishes, and then he combs through Kaoru’s list too, just because it _is_ his party. He cooks, and cooks, and somehow, miraculously sleeps.

When Kaoru comes home on Thursday, his eyes go wide to the sight of Takuto in their kitchen, blasting shitty J-Pop and adorning Iwai with a silly apron he’d bought the day prior.

“Maruki?” Kaoru says, setting his bags down at the kitchen table. “Dad? Aren’t you two supposed to be at work?”

Iwai grunts. “Closed down the shop early.”

“Surprise!” Takuto says, turning in his direction. “We’re celebrating your victory over exams with a special Maruki crafted dinner. Kaoru themed.” He nudges his hip against Iwai’s.

Kaoru glances between the two of them, confused. “But I don’t even have my scores yet. I could have failed—”

“Kaoru,” Takuto says firmly. “Did you work hard and do your best?”

“Y-yeah?” Kaoru says nervously, glancing at Iwai again.

“Then we should celebrate! Who cares how you did, as long as you worked hard!”

Kaoru shuffles his feet a bit. “Really?”

“Do you not want to?” Iwai asks quietly. “If you’re tired, or—”

“No!” Kaoru says suddenly. He takes a breath, and the nervous apprehension in him seems to melt, his face breaking into a wide, blinding smile. “No, that sounds. I’d like that. A lot. Thanks, dad. And Doctor Maruki.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Takuto says brightly, glancing back at the preheating oven. _I think I’m happy_. He’d told Rumi. He watches Iwai fiddle with his almost too small apron and smiles. _I think I love you_.

“So, have either of you ever tempered chocolate?”

\--

“Jesus christ,” Iwai says, handing Maruki a cup of tea. “Looks like a tornado tore through here.”

Takuto laughs, glancing at the destroyed kitchen around them. He’d hit the nail on the head that Kaoru was a fan of sweets, and even if a specialty three tier cake hadn’t been exactly the most practical, it had been fun, especially when Iwai declared himself head of the decorating committee. He glances over at the little cake on the kitchen table, carved nearly in half with as much as the three of them had eaten, and smiles. “We did good, though.”

Iwai grunts, but in a way Takuto has come to know means he’s pleased, and he puts a hand on Iwai’s shoulder to pull him down into a kiss.

“I think I figured out your favorite food,” Takuto says brightly.

Iwai fixes him with a look that says _Unlikely_ , but hums. “And what would that be, dollface?”

He brushes his nose against Iwai’s. “You really don’t have one. You like pretty much anything, as long as I make it.”

“Brat,” Iwai huffs, and Takuto squeals as Iwai tugs him up in his arms, the tea in his cup sloshing messily over the side. “I told you that,” he says, fitting both hands under Takuto’s thighs to hold him in place.

“I’m a scientist,” Takuto says on a laugh. He sets the tea down gently so he can wrap his arms around Iwai’s neck, thighs flexing gently at Iwai’s sides. “It’s about the _data_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwai says, angling his head up so Takuto _knows_ he’s going to kiss him. “You’re helping me clean.”

“Aye Aye, captain.”

\--

He ends up leaning against the counter with the rest of his tea and watching Iwai bustle around, gathering plates and rinsing off whisks and spatulas.

“Hey,” Iwai says, when they’re largely finished, handing Takuto another plate to dry. “That day, when you called me last week. Is that when you… I mean were you…?”

Takuto takes the plate gently, picking up the slightly damp towel off of the counter. He glances at it sadly. “Yeah, Rumi. I went to see her.”

“How’d that go?”

Takuto laughs dryly, wiping the plate off and setting it on the counter behind him. “It was… strange, seeing her after all this time. But it, uh, helped me figure some stuff out.”

“Oh yeah?” Iwai says, shaking his hands off in the sink to turn to Takuto. “What’d you figure out?”

Takuto pulls him close, leaning back against the counter. Iwai presses his nose gently into Takuto’s neck, and Takuto laughs. “I love you.”

Takuto feels Iwai’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin like he’s blinking very quickly, before his face comes back into view, mouth half parted in shock, eyes wide. Takuto pecks him on the corner of his mouth, as soft as he can manage. “That’s all,” he whispers.

Iwai startles like he’s been kicked, before he’s smushing a hand against the side of Takuto’s face, turning him so Takuto can’t see his expression. “Oh my god,” he groans, and Takuto chuckles, patting Iwai on the arm. “Oh my _god_. You are so embarrassing. This is why I hate psychiatrists—you-you can’t just _say_ shit like that.” That makes Takuto laugh again, especially when he reaches up and slips his fingers between Iwai’s to kiss gently at his knuckles. Iwai’s face is bright red, eyes fixed somewhere behind Takuto’s head, mouth set firmly. “I love you too, you sappy little shit. God damn it.”

Iwai presses him back a little harder, and Takuto jumps he feels the plate he set on the counter start to slide, before there’s the very definitive sound of a plate crashing and shattering on the floor. Takuto gasps, and tries to turn around to get it, but Iwai holds him tight, not even giving him an inch of space.

“Mune, the plate—”

“We’ll fix it,” Iwai says, and it’s all Takuto can do to stare and then laugh, tugging Iwai’s face down just enough to be able to kiss him.

\--

Takuto Maruki has been a lot of things in his life—a student, a teacher, a florist, a gun enthusiast—he even did a brief stint as a god. For a while there, though, he’s not sure if any of those things made him… happy.

And then he gets his ass handed to him by a seventeen-year-old at the top of the world, and he limps into an airsoft shop with a bruised pride and a broken heart and now... well, now he thinks he’s in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeehaw!
> 
> I hope this isn't like. The worst. It was kind of the first fic i wrote like this and I hadn't seen any fics where Maruki kind of gets his shit together after p5r and I kinda wanted to play with that. Also, Kaoru rights. Love that boy.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobi_yos) if you wanna come say hi or to uhh tell me I fucked up something real bad and you hate me (Actually don't... don't do that last one please.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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